Call the Locksmith!
by Accidentally The Whole Fanfic
Summary: Knock, knock...


Echo Town was a small, intimate community. It had grown from a startlingly compact population of 4 - Hana Tsukino and Roger Dunhill hanging on stubbornly despite jerking off the Grim Reaper on a daily basis - but in the end, a tight-knit community was still a tight-knit community. It was warm, it was cozy, it was friendly and welcoming, and Henry Turner found himself wishing every day that he'd never built the fucking place up from practically nothing.

Locks. For want of a single lock on his front door, or perhaps a guard dog, motion detectors, maybe a mounted turret poised to rip apart any intruder, Henry Turner was a cursed man.

The first few times it had happened, it had been a welcome, friendly reprieve from the monotony of daily life in tiny, backwater Echo Town. There wasn't much in the way of arable land, he only had one cow to tend to, and he'd sold off the majority of the local insect life to pay for his dinner each night.

"Are you awake, Henry? It's me, Dunhill."

The de facto mayor of Nothing hadn't the courtesy to knock, but Henry didn't mind - the old man was friendly, enthusiastic, and chatting with him kept Henry's mind off of wishing he could spend his days plowing Emma Sheffield after he was finished doing the same to the land. He sometimes entered her house late at night and watched her sleep, abusing himself shamelessly over her snoring form. None of them had locks on their doors. They didn't deserve locks.

"Our animal dealer is back in town, isn't that wonderful?" Dunhill asked excitedly, slinging an arm around the smiling Henry's shoulder and leading him outside to meet the surly blonde man.

He'd netted a cow - a worthy cause to drop by, if any. The second time had been equally fruitful, even if the rude intrusion had irked Henry a bit. "Hey, I was cleaning out my attic - I forgot I had these fishing traps! C'mon, lemme show you how they work, yeah?"

But once the second MILF and her gypsy son had moved in, and Henry's efforts to expand the town had started unfurling great things... in retrospect, he should have known. Dunhill was senile. That had to be it, barging in at 6 every bloody morning for the most trivial bullshit.

"I've invented a new festival!" he crowed, as Henry shuffled out of the bathroom, brushing his teeth. "The Fishing Festival! Great, isn't it?"

The next time, he'd walked in on Henry clipping his toenails. "A festival of music! AHHHHHHH!" he screamed triumphantly. He walked back out, tearing his clothes off.

"The population just went from 11 to 12!" Dunhill trilled as Henry sobbed over a peeled onion by the kitchen sink.

"We have a magician now!" he announced next, the door flying open as a masturbating Henry furiously and haphazardly threw his blankets over himself to hide his erection, pointing at the door and sputtering for Dunhill to leave immediately. The old man noticed nothing, cheerfully bringing Michelle Weinrecht in to meet the humiliated young farmer. He wound up paying her an emerald for her silence. _Bitch,_ he thought bitterly.

"A hypochondriac's living here now!"

"I'm not wearing a bra!"

"My face feels like rubber!"

"I'm becoming a Scientologist!"

"Confirm the origin of fire!"

"I've taught Rebecca to feel love!"

Henry pointed his shotgun at Dunhill and fired repeatedly, until only clicking could be heard.

"Well, I'll see you later!"

Henry collapsed, sobbing.

He didn't venture outside for weeks, his farm lapsing into ruin and disrepair.

He was fine with that. It didn't make the visits stop, anyway. Nothing did. He was in Hell. He would always be in Hell.

One morning, after staying up for three days straight, Henry found himself staring bleakly into his living room mirror. The barrel of a revolver was jammed in his mouth.

The door swung open.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Henry's trembling index finger bent ever-so-slightly toward the trigger-

There was no announcement. No sound. No... no _Dunhill_. _No Dunhill_, he thought, not sure if he quite believed it yet. It... it couldn't be. No. She - she, that asshole, that disgusting wretch of a local deity - was tricking him. She had that twisted sort of sense of humor.

The silence still persisted - no, not completely. That odd crackling sound... what was that sound? Such a curious sound...

Fire. The sky was red and black, thick with acrid, _beautiful_ smoke billowing from the flaming ruins of Echo Town. No screams could be heard - a corpse couldn't cry out, after all, and the streets were littered with the burnt husks of every last resident...

Except Henry.

Henry Turner was free, finally _free. _Laughing, he threw his revolver aside. Laughter turned to sobs turned to ecstatic, joyous screams as he sank to his knees, weeping gratefully. _Freedom, freedom, freedom-_

"Oi!"

-No.

Henry's eyes were shut tight - he didn't dare pry them open. He couldn't. No, it wasn't fair! He was supposed to be the only one left, _god damn it!_

The small, winged ball of blue light took no heed of Henry's grief as it fluttered around his head. It had a job to do.

"Hey! Listen!"

The sharp report of the revolver cracked across the air.

Hell.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **I like Dunhill, honestly. And ANB is fun. But god, those people are trusting. And intrusive. I'd be scared to use the bathroom or even shower or anything.


End file.
